How to Carry On
by StarStepper
Summary: A different take on Endgame. Peter wasn't snapped away, but he's a shell of what he used to be. And Tony is still kept alive, to play a paramount role in reversing the Snap…but it may destroy whatever Thanos left alive. MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. This is not a happy story guys! Warning you now :) T for language and sadness


The alien spaceship touches down and Peter bursts outside, face flushed and eyes wild.

Standing before him is Pepper Potts, Steve Rogers, and Colonel Rhodes, and then a glowing woman with blond hair comes around, too, and all he can think is that this isn't how he imagined meeting his heroes as Nebula supports Tony down the ramp.

For some reason, Peter hoped against hope that they'd have better news when they got home. That it hadn't happened everywhere. That there was something left.

The looks on their faces are enough to convince him that's not true.

Peter feels his shoulders slump. "It happened here, too."

Steve only looks at him and nods, his throat bobbing. Blinking, the three of them rush around him to help Tony down the rest of the way, and Peter feels his knees shake as the days on the ship catch up to him. He feels his knees give out and he collapses onto the grass, catching himself in a sitting position, shaking under his own weight.

"Peter?" Tony's weak voice reaches him, exhaustedly worried, and Peter can only manage a nod.

"I'm okay," he breathes, taking a deep breath, preparing to leverage himself up. Before he can, strong hands are grabbing him under his arms, hoisting him to his feet.

Peter turns to see Captain America, who pulls one of Peter's arms over his shoulders with a grim smile. "Rhodey's got Tony. You're Spider-Man, right?"

Peter nods, and he can't avoid sagging a little as soon as he doesn't have to hold himself up. "I'm…I'm Peter." This isn't how he imagined meeting his heroes at all.

"Nice to meet you, Peter," Steve nods, and the seven of them make their way to Compound, the eerie lights casting soft glows over the landscape. It's too docile for the circumstances. "I'm Steve. I wish it was under better circumstances."

Peter can only breathe, nodding.

It's not until half an hour later, when his injuries are wrapped and he's hooked up to an IV and in a real bed just across the room from Tony, that he remembers May.

Of course, he thought about her on the ride back. He thought about her constantly. She consumed most of his waking minutes, when he wasn't distracted by his rumbling stomach, or Tony's attempts to cheer him up with paper football, or his terror for Tony as Nebula attempted to seal the wound. He wondered if she was alive.

The thought makes him shoot up in bed, and he weakly scrambles for the railing, his body failing him.

"Pete?" Tony calls from across the room, his voice worried as Peter tries to clamber out of bed, panting, shaking, sweating, breathing erratically. "Pete, calm down! Bruce!"

Pepper, who's been sitting by Tony's side, crosses the room swiftly, trying to push him down. "Peter, sweetheart, calm down—"

"May," he breathes, stopping finally as soon as he's sitting up, one of Tony's old sweatshirts hanging loosely off his thin frame. "May, she's—I have to—"

"Sweetie, who's May?" Pepper asks, eyebrows drawing together worriedly.

"His aunt," Tony says in realization, arms shaking as he levers himself up, as well. "She's all he has."

Peter gently pushes Pepper away, as gently as he can in his panic, and starts tearing at the tape on his arm at the same time Bruce slides in, taking in Peter's motions. "Peter, stop!"

Peter can't, though, because he has to know, he has to _see_—

Suddenly Steve's beside him, grabbing his wrists to halt his progress, and the world slams back into focus. "Peter, breathe," the man says, concerned.

Peter gasps a breath, struggling futilely. "I c-can't, I have—I have to go—"

"He wants to see his aunt," Tony says from behind Pepper, where she's keeping him pressed firmly to the bed, despite his attempts to cross the room to Peter. "She's his only family, and we don't know—"

He stops himself, but the unspoken answer is enough to send him into a panic.

He can't lose May. He can't, he _cannot_ lose her, because then that's it.

Half the world is gone, and he has no one.

He knows that's not quite true. He has Tony; he'll always have Tony, but Tony will never, ever be May.

"I have to go," he reiterates, wrenching from Steve's hold and tearing at the tape, sliding off the bed onto the ground.

"Peter, _stop_," Tony says, and Peter can't help but obey when the man sounds so scared. "Stop, okay? You're barely standing. Steve, can you take him in a car? Are the roads even in use?"

Steve presses his mouth into a thin line and nods, glancing back at Peter. "C'mon. Let's go."

The car ride is a silent, heavy affair, and Peter thinks it's the most depressing fifty minutes of his entire life. What would have normally been upwards of an hour, maybe an hour and a half, with the consistent New York traffic and horrendously timed stoplights, is only that long, because his life-filled and overflowing city is a desolate ghost town.

The streets are greyed out in the hollow throes of loss, barely any wall-space visible beneath the "Missing" posters that dot every inch of the barren streets. Peter has to remind himself that no one else knows that happened—loved ones, children, everyone—people just…misted. Disappeared.

Of course there would be Missing posters.

He sees some people wandering aimlessly along, looking as lost as he feels, but mostly, doors are closed tight. Lights are shut off—is there even power?—

Peter's body is quaking. He's pushing himself too hard, and he knows it, but the adrenaline is keeping him alert enough to be worried. He won't be able to rest until he knows his Aunt is safe.

And if she isn't—

Peter can't think that far.

He's kidding himself, because she may not even be at the apartment. She may have left, gone to her parents. Gone…somewhere else.

But Peter knows she wouldn't have left without knowing what happened to him.

Peter knows it like he knows his own name.

"After…after Thanos snapped," Steve says, breaking the uncomfortable silence so suddenly Peter flinches, "there was a mass panic. The missing posters started going up the next day. The power went off…almost everywhere, I think. Most people have moved to big group shelters with generators. Those of us…uh, left…have been trying to help, but most people are still too in shock to do much."

Peter nodded absently, noticing the broken glass lining almost every inch of the streets. The broken windows were common on the drive. "What about all…the broken windows?"

Steve shifted, his entire posture _screaming_ exhaustion. "There was…some rioting. A lot of break-ins. When people panic, sometimes they…do things they wouldn't otherwise do. There's been a lot of theft and violence."

Peter's stomach twists, and he doesn't respond.

The rest of the drive is silent.

His apartment building is the loneliest, most dilapidated and sad and empty he's ever seen it.

He gets out of the car, and the adrenaline is pumping, burning through him, and he's running.

He's racing up the stairs and ignoring the broken glass crunching under his shoes. He's sprinting, taking in the empty, dark hallways, the litter and papers and belongings scattered carelessly around outside, and he's fervently wishing that _someone_ will make an appearance, but no one does.

He gets to his door. He can absently hear Steve shouting behind him, hear his heavy footfalls on the stairs, but he's too preoccupied with the open door to think of anything else.

And the _smell_.

God, it's horrible.

Once, after grocery shopping, May forgot a pack of chicken under the seat. It had fallen out of the shopping bag slid under the seat. After a week in the hot car, in the July months, the smell was _unimaginable_. In fact, they had to get it professionally cleaned, which was a stretch on their finances that month.

Peter thinks it smells a little bit like that, and he suddenly feels his entire body shake as he steps through the door.

May isn't here.

She isn't here.

That's the only thought ringing through Peter's head as he forces himself through the door of their little apartment, frantic eyes glancing every which way with an animalistic desperation.

She isn't here.

Until she is, and then Peter wishes she wasn't.

The apartment is trashed. Lamps are broken, furniture overturned and shredded, picture frames smashed on the floor or hanging haphazardly from their hooks, precariously dangling from the wall. Broken glass crunches under his shoes as he steps carefully into the desolate room, keeping half an eye out for any threats.

"Aunt May?" He asks quietly, hoping like hell that he gets a response. Something obviously happened, here, in his home, but it wasn't Thanos' snap. The snap erased people, it didn't—it didn't cause this level of destruction.

He feels his legs shaking underneath him as Steve barrels in behind him, huffing. "Peter, stay where I can see—what happened here?"

Peter doesn't answer. He doesn't know.

He continues through the wreckage of his home, stopping when there's a different sound under his foot—crunching glass, but sharper than the rest. He looks down, lifting his foot, and sees the framed picture from the end table of he, May, and Ben at the end of a pier in November, swaddled in layers and grinning like kids.

If May had left, there was no way she would've left that behind.

He picks up the picture, brushing the glass and broken frame aside, and holds it close as he continues through.

He moves down the hall, and he can hear Steve following behind, unwilling to speak, to break the tentative silence engulfing them. Peter thinks it will shatter with even the smallest sound.

Her bedroom door is ajar.

He moves on shaking legs, pressing his fingertips lightly against the door, and opens it, his hands trembling.

"No," he breathes, his eyes going wide, his brain unable to take in the sight before him. He feels Steve stop behind him, hears the man inhale sharply and put a hand to his head as he turns away.

Peter can't turn away. He can't take his eyes off her.

She's lying there, at the foot of her bed, her body crumpled like a rag doll's. The shag carpet that she'd insisted on for the apartment is bathed in crimson flames, fanning out around her body like blooming flowers.

He feels his feet move forward and around, and his knees give out as he catches sight of her face. He falls to his knees beside her, the broken picture frame limp in his hand.

Her eyes are open. Her middle is bloodied, and two small holes in her shirt…don't seem like enough damage to warrant this much blood.

He doesn't understand.

"Peter," Steve says quietly, his voice too calm, too controlled, for the utter devastation consuming him right now. "Come on—"

But Peter grips his Aunt's cold wrist with a desperation he's never, _ever_ felt, begging there to be life, to be a beat, a pulse—

But she is stiff, and cold, and—and there's nothing.

There's nothing.

…

Peter doesn't remember Steve guiding him back to the car. He doesn't remember the ride back to the Compound. He's not sure he wants to, with the way the faded walls and empty streets reflect his ever-increasing hollowness.

When they pull into the garage, Peter gets out of the car and promptly collapses.

Steve rushes around to his side, but his worried voice is lost in the thick layer of desolation surrounding him. He feels heavy, heavier than he's ever felt in his entire life. Every limb is completely weighted down with loss and the inconsolable need for his aunt's arms around him.

Steve's arms go around him, lifting him, guiding him inside, but they're not the same. They'll never be the same.

Nothing will _ever_ be the same.

Peter can't look at anyone as he's led back to his hospital bed. Pepper knows—Tony knows—everyone _knows_, just from the heaviness of his frame and the look on Steve's face.

He's not really sure _he_ even knows. He doesn't understand.

He allows Steve and Pepper to guide him into the bed, to lift his feet up and force him to lie down on his side, his arms automatically coming up to wrap around himself in a poor excuse for the consuming, safe, warm hug he knows he'll never feel again.

"Peter," Tony's voice says quietly. Peter allows himself the comfort of his mentor's voice for just a moment before the reality of this situation slams into him, and he can barely breathe.

"I'm sorry, kiddo. I'm sorry."

Peter knows he's sorry. Peter knows he's blaming himself for not stopping Thanos. Peter knows, because Peter's blaming himself for not stopping Thanos. Peter should say something to let him know that he doesn't blame him, not in the slightest.

Peter can't say anything.

Pepper sits beside him on the bed and accepts a blanket from Steve, using it to cover Peter's shivering form.

Peter closes his eyes, opens them exhaustedly again, and repeats the vicious cycle because he wants nothing more to sleep to escape this hellish situation, but every time he closes his eyes all he can see is his Aunt's body. Her bloody, and her f-face and the _smell_—

Peter cries.

Pepper rubs his shoulder and threads her fingers through his hair and exchanges worried glances with Tony and Steve, and Peter just cries.

Because he's only sixteen and he shouldn't be here, and he has never wished so fervently that he hadn't been bitten by the spider. He wishes he'd been with May so he could have protected her…or so she wouldn't have had to die alone and afraid and wondering where he was and why he wasn't there.

He wonders if she'd been thinking of him as she died.

He wonders if he'd just stayed on the damn bus, if he could have been with her.

He wonders what would've happened if he'd been just a little bit faster and he'd been able to get the stones away from Thanos, or stop him from stabbing Tony, who had a much better chance of stopping him.

He wonders, and wonders, and wonders. And cries.

He's still clutching the torn picture of his broken family to his chest, trying desperately to preserve them, when he finally sleeps.

…

Days later, he finds the remaining Avengers planning against the Titan.

He's been floating around the Compound, existing in the shadows and keeping to himself in his room. Tony has been with him a lot, just sitting with him. Talking to him. Peter can't respond very much, but he appreciates it.

The originals are left, as well as Rhodey. And that's all from the Avengers, who were once…what, thirteen-strong? Fourteen? Only seven are left. Not counting himself, of course.

But he's going to help.

By God, even if he can't hold a conversation or physically drag himself out of bed to do more than go to the bathroom…he's going to help destroy Thanos once and for effing all if it's the last thing he does.

Because he has absolutely nothing left and nothing to hope for, so he's drawing upon the simmering burn of cold, unbridled _hatred_ beneath the agony still dominating his waking moments.

He calls upon it, and summons it, and it gives him the strength to drag himself to the conference room where voices are chattering, planning, brainstorming.

Tony sees him first, of course.

"—and from there, we can track the power surge and—Peter? What are you doing out of bed, kiddo?"

Tony doesn't look like he should be out of bed, either, in his wheelchair with his IV. His blowout conversation with Steve had echoed through the Compound, and he'd passively absorbed it in his grief-induced stupor.

He can't be angry at Steve, though he wants to be.

"Heard you planning," he mumbles, sitting heavily in one of the conference chairs, ignoring the other Avengers' eyes on him. There was a time when this would have been surreal—he and the other Avengers all in the same room, fighting the good fight, would have pushed all rationality to the bottom of the sea and he would have been a melting mess of fanboy _Peter_, unintelligible and horribly embarrassing.

As it is now, he barely acknowledges their presence.

"Don't worry about it, Pete," Tony says, wheeling himself over to him. "You need to rest—"

"You're going after him," Peter says, expression flat, voice hard. "I'm helping."

Tony purses his lips. "No, you're not—"

"I am," Peter says, and there is no way in hell he is going to be told no.

"Tony, it's fine," Natasha says, and Peter doesn't expect her to back him up, so he's detachedly grateful. "He can stay."

"I'm not sure that's the best idea," Steve says, and Peter is (also detachedly) impressed that he and Tony are agreeing so soon.

Bruce nods. "Peter, you—you really need to rest. I know you're struggling—"

"No, you don't," Peter says, and he's never heard himself sound so emotionless. "You have no idea, because everybody you guys lost—you have a shot at getting them back."

The room is silent very quickly after that. No one can argue.

"I'm helping."

No one tells him no after that.

…

Peter had watched through the comms as the Avengers—sans Tony—had gone to Thanos' hideout to get the stones and reverse the damage.

Peter had wanted to come, but he'd been relegated to running interference with Tony and Pepper.

And their hopes had been crushed once again, but at least Peter had gotten to watch Thanos meet his end.

It wasn't nearly as satisfying as he thought he'd be, and if anything, Tony was even more worried for him after that.

By this point, the only thing separating Peter from the land of the living and the land of the dead was a heartbeat. So he was somewhat glad when the shrinking man showed up and put _life_ back into Avengers Compound.

The others have been really nice to him. They've been trying to include him, to reach out to him. Tony—and consequently Pepper, since they're really never very far from each other—have been with him consistently, just trying to make him understand that he's not alone in this.

He understands, and he appreciates it, but he can't accept it.

He sleeps here, he likes everyone here—loves Tony, and maybe Pepper, and is grateful to them beyond words—but the Compound will never be his home.

His home died alone from a gunshot wound, and with it, an unsalvageable part of himself had, as well.

So despite…the niceness, the help, the support…the love…Peter was slipping further from reality with every day that passed.

…

It's been three months, and they finally have a game plan.

Scott Lang—Ant-Man, that asshole who'd smacked him out of the sky—shows up at the door one day with the Hail Mary they've been praying for since Day 1. He's rambling about the Quantum realm and time travel, and Peter's mind is out of practice, but he manages to keep up with the technical jargon as the practical side of him pushes how the geek who's freaking out over the concept of time travel.

They've assembled in the conference room, and eventually, they figure out how this works. They send Clint—who is wicked scary, actually—back in time to see if they can grab things and bring them back to their own time. He comes back with tears in his eyes and a baseball glove, and Peter can't help but feel bad for him.

Later that night, after Tony has finally finished working on the tech and they've set their departure time for the next day, Peter lets Tony talk him into a movie on Tony's floor. He falls asleep against Tony's side, and some of the heaviness eases, if only for a moment, because there's finally a plan.

Even if he can't bring May back, he knows this is what she'd want—for him to try to help the people he still can.

For the first time in months, Peter allows himself to feel safe. He falls asleep in Tony's arms and lets himself be content.

Peter falls asleep, missing Tony's look of utter relief at the fact that he's actually letting himself be loved.

But Peter does. He knows he's loved. It's just taken months for him to let himself feel it.

…

The next day, he suits up, the base of his neck tingling in nervousness. Tony knocks twice on his frame, already in his own suit, and leans against the frame. "You ready, Underoos?"

Peter twitches a small smile. "Yeah. Just…happy we might have a chance."

Tony smiles, dropping his head and putting his hands in his pockets. "Kid, I—you know I don't like that you're coming."

"I know," Peter says, fastening his glove with a swift tug. "I have to, though. You know I do."

"I do. Which is the only reason I'm letting you." Tony comes into the room and pulls Peter into a hug, resting his chin atop Peter's head. Peter returns it, closing his eyes and letting himself be held again, feeling the heaviness in his chest lessen just a bit. "When we get out there…I want you to listen to me, okay? I want you to really listen to me, and if I tell you to get out of there, or to drop, or—"

"I'll listen to you," Peter mumbles into Tony's suit. He squeezes the man just once and lets go, trying for a smile. "Let's just…do this. The sooner the world is back to normal…"

He leaves the rest unspoken. _The sooner I can get back to normal_.

He doesn't believe it, but it's a comforting thought.

…

Tony and he go for the Soul Stone, and the planet is desolate.

The others have split up across time and space, and he tries not to think too hard about the fact that everyone he left with only a few moments ago may be decades in the future or the past, trillions of light years removed from him, and seconds ago, they were just feet away, at the same point in time.

It's enough to resurrect a bit of the excited kid he used to be.

"Look, we don't know what's up there," Tony says as they complete their trek across the sand dunes, starting their ascent up the rocky pass that leads to the top, just where Nebula said it would be. "Stay behind me, okay?"

Peter can't help the long-winded sigh, but he appeases Tony with a hum of agreement.

"I'm glad you're doing a little better, Pete," Tony says honestly, testing a rock before shifting his weight to it. The incline is steep, and Peter's having no trouble with his stickiness, but Tony is still a bit weak from their space adventure. Peter stays behind him just in case he falls.

Peter hums, quickly scaling the distance between them and making sure Tony's next hold was secure. "I guess."

"You are," he says, taking a deep breath. "I was…really worried about you for…a while," he took a deep breath, leveraging himself up. "Bu you're…doing better."

Peter nods, the heaviness present, but not too unbearably. "You and Pepper helped a lot. And everybody else."

"Yeah," Tony continues. "They like you, you know. Everybody else. They could get used to…having you around."

Peter stills, quickly regaining his composure and continuing up. "What do you mean?"

They reach a part of the path that safe to walk normally on, and Tony steadies himself, turning to pull Peter up after him, though the gesture is unnecessary. Tony heaves a deep breath and flicks some sweat off his brow, not looking at Peter. "I mean…I…shit. How would you…you know, like to stay at the Compound? Permanently, with us? After this is all over."

Peter flinches, the proposal unexpected, especially now, when they're about to enter a completely unknown situation with who knows what roadblocks. Peter looks down at the rock face they've just climbed, feels a shiver up his spine, and looks away, at Tony's face.

He's trying not to be hopeful.

"I…know it's unexpected, kid," Tony says, patting him on the shoulder. "And I know we have a hell of a lot bigger problems right now. But…think about it, okay?"

Peter nods. "I just…I can't…think that far ahead right now. You know?"

Tony nods, a bit of the tenseness in his shoulders dissipating. "Sure, kiddo. Take as much time as you need."

He musses Peter's curly hair and continues on, Peter not far behind him.

An emotion Peter's old self distantly recognizes as happiness is trying to worm its way out into the open. Peter follows Tony's ascending frame, distantly smiling. Living at the Compound, with everyone, after this is all over—

And Peter's smile fades. He knows…he'll probably accept the offer. He will. And maybe one day, he'll be better. He'll be…functional, and maybe even kind of happy.

But he knows that he will never, ever heal, and for him, this will never be over.

He's startled out of his musings by the figure in the tattered black cloak descending in front of him and Tony. Tony's repulsor is up before Peter knows what's happening, his other arm stretched across Peter's chest to keep him behind Tony.

"Welcome," the rasping voice announces, sending knives up and down Peter's back, "Anthony, son of Howard. Peter, son of Benjamin."

Peter jerks. Ben had no doubt been Peter's primary father figure, but…how did this thing know that?

"Who are you?" Tony growls, the repulsor still raised.

"It is my curse to guard that which rejected me," the voice continues, drifting closer to them. Peter is flashed back to a happier time, when he and Ned binged the Harry Potter movies, no matter how scientifically inaccurate they were. The guy was too much like a Dementor. "and my lust for its power."

"The Soul Stone?" Peter asks quietly, pressing his fingers lightly into Tony's back to let him know he's okay. "Where is it?"

"You should know…it extracts a terrible price." The man lifts his head, and Peter takes an involuntary step back. The man's face is horribly scarred, misshapen, and blood red.

This is the face that stared out at him, terrifying, from the pages of a textbook—Red Skull.

Peter feels Tony tense. Peter himself coils tightly, the words making his heart pound. He wipes his sweaty hands on his pants.

"Just take us there," Tony says, lowering his weapon and putting a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Stay close," he whispers, and Peter nods.

They ascend to a towering cliff face that looks over the sandy planet, and Peter glances over the edge of the face. The craggy descent is terrifying, and he quickly steps back to Tony's side.

"What you seek lies in front of you…as does what you fear," Red Skull says.

"What do you mean?" Tony asks, his fists curled, ready.

"This…is the price."

Peter's entire body coils with a heart-stopping fear, and he doesn't know why he's suddenly so afraid.

Red Skull continues, though, and his fear makes sense.

"Soul holds a special place among the Infinity Stones. It has a certain…wisdom. To ensure that whoever possess it understands its power, the stone demands a sacrifice."

"What kind of sacrifice?" Peter's voice shakes, and he doesn't want to hear the answer.

"In order to take the stone…"

Tony shakes his head, fully aware of what's coming, and pushes Peter fully behind him, almost violently. "No."

"You must lose that which you love."

Red Skull finishes his thought, his pale eyes almost sympathetic.

Tony deflates.

Peter looks toward the ledge, the world spinning in and out of focus as a palpable fear overtakes his entire frame. The stone—their plan—

He can't. He has to—

In a sudden burst of clarity, his fear dissipates.

He has to what?

"Come here, Pete," Tony says, and his voice is oh, so dejected, and so sad and so afraid and so…final.

Peter comes.

They sit on a rock near the ledge. Red Skull lingers, his cloak billowing in a breeze Peter can't feel, his now dispassionate eyes staring clinically at the ledge.

"Peter," Tony says, putting his arm around the boy's shoulders and pulling him close. "Peter, I—"

He can't finish. Taking a shuddering breath, he runs a hand through his hair jaggedly, brokenly, and lets out a wet laugh. "This isn't how this was supposed to go."

Tony puts his head back, gazing up at the dark sky with a desperation that makes Peter ache. Pulling himself together, he takes a deep, shuddering breath, and speaks slowly. "Peter…I need you to…to be strong for me, okay? You're…there's so much I want to say to you, but I—I…Peter, take…take care of Pepper, okay? This is really going to hurt her. And—and please, stay in the Compound with everyone. They'll help you. You'll—you'll be okay."

Peter shakes his head. Tony misinterprets the gesture, pulling Peter against his chest with a gentle ferocity that has Peter reeling in understanding. He'll never feel these arms around him again.

"You will."

"No," Peter responds, returning the hug, holding on for dear life, and finally breaking away, "I won't. But you will."

Tony pulls back, a microsecond of shock painting his features before understanding dawns. "No. Peter, it's not happening."

"Listen to me," Peter says carefully, holding Tony's arms like a lifeline, the magnitude of what he was about to do finally sinking in. He shudders, trying to hide it, and says, "I have to do this."

"No. Peter, it is _not_ happening. You—"

"I have nothing to go back to," Peter admits, trying desperately to make his mentor understand. "I have you, but—but I'm never going to get through this. Not really. I'm doing better, sure, but—Tony, you don't get it. This—this whole thing, this whole situation—I'm never, ever going to get past it. Losing May—" he chokes on her name, but makes himself continue, ignoring the growing dread in Tony's eyes. "—it destroyed me. It was—one more loss, and I couldn't take it. But now…now I can…make this mean something. I can make this shitty, horrible hand I was dealt _mean_ something. Spiderman protected Queens—maybe a little more, but—you've saved the _world_, Tony. It needs you."

"It'll be fine without me," Tony says, touching Peter's face gently, looking into his eyes, desperately trying to memorize every line. "And so will you."

Peter smiles gently, his eyes brimming with tears. He hasn't had time to prepare for this, but he knows it will—probably—be swift and painless.

Then all he has to do is trust that Tony and the others can undo this horrible _thing_ that's happened to their universe, and he has never had more faith in a group of people than he does right now.

"I love you," Peter says, and then he webs Tony's hand to the wall behind him.

Tony's jerked back from the force of it, and in disbelief, he starts thrashing, ripping at the stuff. "Peter, no! No, dammit, don't you _dare_—"

"Don't blame yourself," Peter says, moving swiftly to the edge. Looking down makes him nauseous. He swallows, stepping back and closing his eyes. "I'm choosing this, okay? I'm—"

An explosion rocks the world at his feet, and he's blasted to the ground. Thin wire comes to wrap around his body, and it tightens, constricting him beyond mobility. Then Tony's standing over him, panting, his eyes a balance of fury and terror. "No, Peter. You promised me, you understand? I'm going to do this, and you're going to go home. You're going to—to take care of Pepper, and—and Rhodey, alright? And Happy too. Can you do that for me?"

Peter struggles, feeling the wire start to give, and tries not to cry. "Tony, don't—you have people to go back to! Please—"

"I love you too, Peter," Tony says, crouching and sweeping a hand—_one more time_—through Peter's unruly curls, smiling fondly. "More than words can say. Do this for me, okay?"

Peter screams at Tony the entire short walk to the ledge, yelling at the man, begging him. Tony looks down, his stance hardening, and closes his eyes. "If I ever had a son," Tony breathes, looking back at Peter with tears in his eyes, "I would have wanted him to be just like you."

And he smiles once.

Peter's screams alternate between telling Tony he loves him and begging him not to jump. Tony smiles, nods, and the love and fear in his eyes is enough to drive Peter crazy.

Just as Tony steps off the ledge, the wire holding Peter snaps.

Peter explodes into action, shooting a web towards the terrifying pillars on either side of the entrance to the cliff face, and throws himself at Tony, catching a glimpse of his widening eyes just before he attached the web to Tony's middle.

Peter feels the moment it snags, hears the whoosh of air escaping Tony's lungs, and Peter fully expects to keep falling, but he's jerked to a halt with him, Tony's hand firm around his wrist.

"No," Tony says, looking up at the web disappearing up and over the cliff. "No, _no_—"

But Tony knows how strong the webs are—knows because they spent hours in the lab together, perfecting the formula. Because they spent hours in between watching movies and eating pizza. Because they tested it in the most ridiculous ways, in the lab and in New York, and before they perfected the time limit before it dissolved, they trapped themselves in a corner by accident for hours until Rhodey was able to get them and cut them out.

Tony could cut the web, but his hold on Peter is too precarious to try. His fingers are barely secure around Peter's thin wrist.

"There's so much I wanna tell you," Peter says, smiling slightly as he unintentionally mimics his mentor, "but…you know. Right? You know already."

"I do, Peter, I do, I promise, just—please, kid, please don't—"

"I'm sorry I'm breaking my promise," Peter admits, feeling the tears slip down his face as Tony's fingers begin slipping. He feels gravity tugging at him, the thin wisps of fog grazing the toes of his boots the lower he sinks. "But—I'm not—I'm not afraid, Tony. I'm afraid of—of it hurting, of dying, but—but I'm going to see May," he says, finally realizing it. "And Ben, and—and my parents. We're—" he sobs once, looking up at Tony with all the love for the man he can possibly muster in just a gaze. "We're both going home."

"Peter," Tony chokes, his eyes spilling over as he desperately tightens his fingers, but they both know it's too late. "I love you, kid, I do—please, don't make me—"

"It's okay," Peter whispers, his voice breaking. "It's okay."

And finally, he slips from Tony's fingers.

He doesn't feel himself hit the rocks.

…

Tony feels himself slam back into reality with the stone in his hand. He's in the same circle of heroes he'd left in, and everyone's all smiles. Tony counts all of the packages they'd left for—all six stones. A means of fixing this.

He can't bring himself to care.

He sinks to his knees and stares at the glowing rock in his hand, tears still falling from his eyes.

"Tony?" Rhodey asks, and his voice travels to him through a thick layer of oil and water and guilt. "Where's Peter?"

Hearing his name said is like a gunshot wound right to his heart.

"He's dead," Tony spits. In a burst of anger, he stands, hurling the stone across the room with a vicious yell. It clinks uselessly against the wall, falling, undamaged to the concrete floor, and Tony collapses.

"He's _dead_."

…

The day after they kill Thanos' evil double and resurrect everyone who was lost in the Snap, Tony goes to Peter's apartment.

May's body has been long removed and buried, and Tony paid some people to set the apartment back in working order in case Peter had wanted to return there after they'd put the world back in working order. Tony makes himself step inside.

He looks at the couch that he'd sat at with May Parker, discussing Peter's future (the internship).

Then he looks at Peter's bedroom, where he'd convinced the kid of coming to fight with him in Germany.

Where he'd unintentionally catalyzed one of the most important relationships of his entire life.

The memory of the utter fear and _acceptance_ in Peter's eyes was enough to make him stop in the bathroom to be sure he wouldn't throw up.

Pepper had been…amazing. She'd planned the funeral—simple and intimate, as Peter would have wanted it—and sat with him and held him when he just couldn't get up, overwhelmed by the weight of this kid's death.

But the funeral would never be enough, because no one would ever know that the bravest child in the entire universe had thrown himself off a cliff to save them.

Pepper has asked him to meet her for dinner tonight, somewhere quiet. She says she has something important to tell him. They're bringing their own food—most restaurants aren't up and running yet—and they're going to some secluded spot on a lake. Pepper's always loved those places—maybe he'll build them a house, there. On the edge of a lake in the woods, away from all this.

He thinks that might be a good idea.

Then he thinks of how much Peter would have loved it.

He sinks onto Peter's bed and looks around the room, at the Star Wars posters and the textbooks neatly stacked on the desk by a stranger's hands. There's an unfinished math assignment still sticking out of the folder.

That math assignment is never going to be finished.

And somehow, out of every single thing that's happened—watching Peter slip through his fingers, not having him by his side to celebrate Thanos' defeat—this stupid _math sheet_ is the thing that brings it home.

Peter is dead, and he is never coming back.

Tony cries.

…

Tony stands on the top of a cliff face, staring out over the ocean lapping gently at the base of the rockface. The water is smooth as glass, barely rippling under the light wind. The sun is buried behind a wall of clouds, casting thin, pale rays of light onto the water. Clumps of grass and moss decorate the flat ground at his feet, his hands resting on the iron railing in front of him.

He feels someone approaching from his right and casts a sideways glance at the man, his cape flapping ridiculously behind him.

The first time he'd seen Stephen Strange since the whole ordeal, he'd punched the man square in the face. The fact that he doesn't do worse now is more a testament to his exhaustion than his self-control.

"You said it was the only way," Tony says, gripping the rail, looking out over the water with emotionless eyes. "This was it?"

Stephen nods beside him, looking at the waves crashing onto the beach, his shoulders sagging. "You had to be alive to…to make the sacrifice. It was the one way that we won."

Tony nods, sniffing, putting his sunglasses on and staring into the sea, his knuckles white where he grips the rail. "My wife is pregnant." Stephen looks over in surprise; he hadn't known, and he's surprised that's the direction Stark chooses to take this conversation. "Thank you for saving my life and bringing me home to her."

Stephen can hear the 'but' coming, so he stays quiet.

"I'm going to have a child," he says, his voice dangerously quiet. "But whether it was to save the world or not, you made me drop my kid off a cliff and watch him break as he hit the ground, and I can't even bury him."

Dr. Strange feels the unbearable weight of those words fall on his shoulders, and he can't quite keep his frame from sagging under that knowledge.

"If I ever see you again, I don't know if I'll be able to keep myself from killing you."

Stephen nods. He doesn't regret his decision, but this isn't anything he hasn't expected. "For what it's worth…I'm sorry. I'm sorry it had to be you."

Tony laughs humorlessly, looking down. He kicks a rock loose from the dirt, watching it tumble down the slanted wall of rocks leading from his feet to the sea, disappearing into the waves, and as it does, he can't help but be reminded of Peter's body disappearing into the mist and fog at the bottom of the cliff.

"I'm sorry too."

**A/N: Guys, I warned you it wasn't going to be happy. Put the pitchforks away.**

**I don't know, I just…couldn't get this out of my head. I feel like Endgame showed us a really glossed over part of what this might have been like. Understandably, I mean the movie was a masterpiece and they only had so much screen time, but a catastrophe this big would have caused break ins and petty theft and panic and ****_chaos_****. **

**I couldn't help but think of the people affected by more than just the initial Snap—those who lost people to the ensuing chaos who didn't get them back when the Avengers fixed it. You know? SO I wrote this.**

**Please drop a review if you want! I want to hear what you have to say, even if it's negative. And I like constructive criticism!**

**Thanks :) and thanks for reading!**


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